


every lesson learned a line upon your beautiful face

by QueerOnTilMorning



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Anal Sex, Bill Denbrough Loves Mike Hanlon, Dirty Talk, Everyone is Alive Except Georgie Denbrough, First Time, Getting Together, M/M, Mike Hanlon Is The Man Your Man Could Smell Like, Mike Hanlon Loves Bill Denbrough, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:21:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24916045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueerOnTilMorning/pseuds/QueerOnTilMorning
Summary: Mike and Bill, together in Derry, after everyone else has gone home.A late birthday present for Greenie, who requested "Mike topping from below."
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon
Comments: 15
Kudos: 76





	every lesson learned a line upon your beautiful face

**Author's Note:**

  * For [justalittlegreen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/justalittlegreen/gifts).



Bill stays in Derry with Mike after everyone else is gone.

Stan went first, eager to get home to Patty. "I'm going to tell her everything," he said, and there was a peace in his voice Bill had never heard before, even when they were kids. He thinks Stan is going to be all right.

Ben and Bev are going to be all right, too. They left together, Bev driving Ben's rental car with his hand on her knee. "I don't have anything back in New York that can't be replaced," Bev said when they checked out of the Townhouse.

Richie and Eddie got on two different airplanes going two different directions, but Bill knows they'll find their way back to each other soon enough. It's all there in the way their eyes kept meeting over breakfast, in the way Richie put a steadying hand on Eddie's shoulder every time he reluctantly mentioned his wife.

So now it's just Mike and Bill, meticulously cleaning out the room above the library and putting Mike's things into boxes. Mike has asked several times when Bill is going to book his flight, and whether Audra is worried about him, and things of that nature, to which Bill has responded with vague excuses. He's not ready to leave Derry yet, that's all.

Well. That's not precisely true. Actually, Derry could fall into the Earth and disappear, for all Bill cares. He's not ready to leave _ Mike _ yet.

Something  _ happened _ between them. Down there in the caverns, stinking of spider guts and greywater, while Richie and Ben tried to stanch Eddie's bleeding enough to move him. The worst possible moment for such a feeling, and yet he  _ did _ feel it, as Mike's forehead pressed against his own. A feeling of  _ yes _ , of  _ at last _ , of  _ I found you. _

He can't go home without knowing whether Mike felt it too. And regardless of Mike's answer, he's pretty sure he can't go home to Audra, at all.

Bill has a box of books in his arms, ready to be stacked against the wall, when Mike says, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Of course he does. It's all he wants, it's the whole reason he's still here. But stupid self-preservation kicks in, and Bill says, "Talk about what?"

_ Idiot, _ he chastises himself. Now Mike will say "nothing, never mind," and the opportunity will be gone, and it will be up to Bill to find the courage to raise the subject again, which may very well take another twenty-seven years--

But Mike says, "About Beverly."

Bill was not expecting that at all. "What about her?" He would be no more prepared if Mike had said "About Michelle Obama," or "about endangered bats."

Mike shrugs moodily. "Never mind. We don't have to if you don't--"

"No, wait, what about Bev? Should I be worried?"

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay," Mike says. He glances at Bill, then looks back down at the stack of documents he's sorting. "You know, since she left with Ben."

Those are all words Bill understands, but it takes him several seconds to parse them as a sentence. "You think I'm jealous of Ben?" he says eventually. "Of Ben and _ Bev? _ "

"Aren't you?" asks Mike. "I know how you felt about her--"

"When we were  _ thirteen, _ " says Bill. "Jesus, Mikey. Who was your first kiss?"

Mike thinks about it for a moment. "Barbara Spencer, I guess. She went to our church."

"Have you been mooning about her for the last thirty years?"

Mike laughs. Bill keeps looking at him, awaiting his response. "No," Mike finally says, as though explaining the painfully obvious. "No, because I'm gay."

The words hit Bill like the first rays of the sun on a cloudless, beautiful morning. He can suddenly see so much farther than ever before. He can see  _ Mike _ so clearly. He sees what he’s been trying to find words for ever since they killed the monster.

Mike is gay. He didn’t say it like a confession, or a revelation. He said it like he  _ knows _ it, like he’s known it all his life, familiar as one of his grandmother’s Gospel songs.

Bill takes a step toward him.

“You never told me,” he says.

“I guess I assumed you knew,” says Mike. He’s still holding papers in both hands, as though he’s forgotten he was supposed to be organizing them.

“You’re gay,” says Bill. He takes another step. His voice comes out low and shaky. “And you’re standing there just--looking like that, all goddamn seven feet of you, with those shoulders--” He watches Mike inhale slowly, the slight rise of his chest, the muscle twitching in his jaw. “And  _ smelling _ like you do. And you want to talk to me about  _ Beverly? _ ”

“What would you rather talk about, Bill?” says Mike carefully.

“Oh,  _ fuck _ you,” Bill says. The space between his body and Mike’s disappears without him consciously deciding to cross it. He clasps his hands behind Mike's neck just like he did underneath Neibolt Street, but this time he does what he should have done then: rises on his toes and crushes his lips into Mike's.

A sound like rustling feathers surprises him until he realizes it's Mike's neatly arranged papers fluttering to the floor. Then Mike's big hands are on his back, at his waist, tangled in his hair--how many fucking hands does Mike _ have-- _ and Mike’s tongue is in his mouth, and they’re both gasping and stumbling into the half-empty bookshelves.

Mike pulls back just enough to nuzzle along Bill’s throat. “Okay,” he murmurs, his lips wet and warm as they graze Bill’s ear.

“Okay?” Bill is only half listening, preoccupied with getting his hands under Mike’s shirt.

“Okay, fuck me,” Mike says.

Bill actually sways on his feet, almost losing his balance as blood evacuates his brain in favor of his dick. Fortunately, Mike is large and stable and has lots of convenient spots to hold onto.

"Mike," Bill chokes. The room spins around him in a way that's faintly familiar, but he hasn't been slipped hallucinogens this time. The only thing fucking with his grip on reality is the man he's clinging to, desperately trying to stay upright.

"I'm sorry," Mike says, smoothing Bill's hair back from his forehead. "Was that too much? I didn't mean--"

"Jesus Christ,  _ no, _ that wasn't too much." Bill clutches Mike's hips, pressing close to him so Mike can feel the effect of his words. "I just got so fucking hard I almost passed out."

Mike grabs Bill by the hair and yanks him into another kiss, licking into his mouth with an urgency that's close to desperation. One of them groans, and Bill honestly doesn't know which one. He has Mike backed up against a stack of heavy boxes, and he knows there's an actual bed somewhere in all this chaos, but stopping to dig it out seems impossible. 

"Fuck," he pants, scrabbling with the buttons on Mike's shirt. "I have no idea what I'm doing, but I want you so bad."

"You've never," says Mike, not quite a question. One of his hands cups Bill's ass while the other strokes the back of his neck.

"No," says Bill. "You have, though?" God, it's  _ infuriating, _ picturing Mike with another man. Someone else ripping his shirt off, like Bill is doing now. Someone else's hands all over his broad chest, someone else's thigh between his legs, someone else tasting his sweat. Bill can't stand it, but it's also getting him even hotter. "How many guys?"

"Don't get possessive on me," Mike warns. "I'm not the one who went and married someone who looks just like Beverly."

"It's not-- I fucking--" Bill can barely focus on what he's saying. Mike's cock is hard and only a few layers of fabric away from his own. He rocks his hips, seeking friction, seeking heat, seeking  _ anything _ to relieve this unbearable ache. "I want you, Mikey, I only want you."

"Prove it," Mike growls, and sucks hard on Bill's neck. It's above his shirt collar, he'll have a bruise that everyone can see. The thought makes him whimper into Mike's hair. "If you want me, fucking take me."

"Please,  _ please." _ He's practically incoherent with the need to taste every inch of Mike's skin. "Tell me. Tell me what to do."

Mike looks straight into his eyes. "I told you. I want you to fuck me."

Bill can't look away, can't even fucking blink. "Yes," he whispers.

Leaning to one side, Mike feels around in a box. Either his organizational system is much more detailed than Bill has been giving him credit for, or he went out of his way to prepare for this encounter, because it only takes him a moment to straighten up holding a bottle of lube and a condom. "Watch me," he instructs, as though Bill is physically capable of anything else.

Mike's chest gleams with sweat. Muscles standing out in his shoulders and back, he quickly moves the tower of boxes hiding what Bill now realizes is a low, comfortable armchair. Bill's breathing comes fast and shallow as he watches Mike sink back into the cushions, lifting his hips to shove his jeans and boxers down.

"Oh my _ fuck,"  _ he murmurs when he sees Mike's cock. "You're too goddamn gorgeous."

"Let me see you," Mike says, fist moving slowly up and down. "Touch yourself while you watch me."

Bill hurries to get his fly open. God, it's so hot in this cluttered attic. A minute ago he smelled old books, but now all he can smell is Mike's sweat and cologne, intoxicating. "Yeah," Mike sighs as Bill takes himself in hand.

"Is this good?" Bill asks, feeling a flicker of self-consciousness. It's slightly surreal that he's standing here above his childhood library, fully clothed with his dick out, watching his best friend slick his fingers with lube.

"So good. You look so good," Mike says. "I want you to fuck me with that beautiful cock."

Bill bites his lip hard against a moan. Mike's eyebrows shoot up.

"Don't come," he says. "Don't you  _ dare _ come until you're inside me."

"I won't," Bill promises, hoping he can resist making a liar of himself. It's not going to be easy--not when Mike is slinging one leg over the arm of the chair, spreading wide so Bill has a perfect view. Bill has never heard anything so filthy or beautiful as the sound of Mike's fingers working himself open. He tightens his hand around the base of his cock, trying to pull back from the brink.

"I've done this before and imagined it was you inside me," Mike says, his eyes burning into Bill's. "I never forgot. Never stopped wanting you."

"Me too," Bill says hazily, and it isn't exactly true but it  _ feels _ true, feels like he's craved this for years.

Mike's eyelids flutter as he finds the perfect spot inside himself. "Bill," he sighs, "Bill."

"Mike, please, I need--"

"You need to fuck me," Mike says.

Bill nearly falls ass-over-face scrambling to kneel by Mike's chair. Two fingers still deep inside his hole, Mike reaches up with his free hand and pulls Bill down into a kiss. As frantic as Bill feels, the kiss is tender and slow, almost luxurious. He braces his hands on the chair's cushioned arms and chases Mike's tongue with his own.

The condom is lying on top of a box, within easy grasp. Bill reaches for it, but Mike stops him. "Wait," he says. "First take off all this goddamn… stuff."

Bill shucks his clothes off faster than he thinks he ever has in his life, and is rewarded by Mike's deep, appreciative groan as he devours him with his eyes.

"Come on," Mike says when Bill is naked. He pulls his fingers out of himself and reaches up to help roll the condom over Bill's cock. Then he guides him into position between his legs.

"Are you ready?" Bill can't help but ask.

"Big Bill, if you don't fuck me right _ fucking _ now--" Mike trails off with a low, startled sound, his mouth dropping open as Bill pushes into him.

It's good. It's so good. It's so fucking good, the way Mike Hanlon feels inside. It's tight and hot and perfect, in that moment that goes on forever, breaking Bill into his component atoms and putting him back together.

Then he's all the way in, and Mike's cock is leaking between their bellies, and Mike's heels are digging into his back, and Mike, Mike, Mike is everything he's ever wanted and more than he's dared to imagine. As joined as two bodies can be, he stops to catch his breath and rest his forehead once more against Mike's.

“Fuck me like you mean it,” Mike whispers, his breath hot against Bill’s lips. “Don’t hold back. I want everything you’ve got.”

“Christ, Mikey. You’re sure?”

Mike laces his fingers behind Bill’s neck. “Hi-yo, Silver,” he says.

Bill is startled into laughter. When Mike laughs too, Bill feels it  _ everywhere. _ Then he wraps a hand around Mike’s thigh to spread his legs wider, and gets to work fucking him to beat the Devil.

"Oh God, oh my God," Bill swears in rhythm with his thrusts. He’s never felt anything like this, the grip of Mike’s body spurring him on, claiming him. Mike’s fingernails bite into his back, and Bill rolls his hips, finding an angle that makes Mike nearly  _ purr. _ He'll ache everywhere tomorrow, he knows, but right now he's alive and Mike's alive and that's more than enough reason for them both to take everything they want. No matter what his 40-year-old spine has to say about it.

Mike sucks at his neck, at the muscle sloping down to his shoulder, which Bill can't remember the name of right now. He's sure Mike knows it, though--the body writhing below and around him is that of a man who knows all his muscles, intimately and by name. Bill wants to memorize Mike's body, to know it just as well as Mike does and better. He can't find the words to express the depth of his desire, so all he says is "Mike, you're so  _ good. _ "

"You feel so good too," Mike says breathlessly. "I fucking-- _ unnhh-- _ love your cock, Bill."

"Yeah?" The sound of their breathing, the chair creaking, skin meeting skin, all so loud in the close, warm air. "This is what you wanted?"

"Yeah." He tongues at Bill's ear. "You think Beverly could take your cock like this?"

"Oh, you asshole." Bill pinches Mike's thigh and feels him tense pleasantly in response. "You think Barbara--what was it? Barbara Sanders could fuck you like this?"

"Barbara Spencer," Mike corrects. "I don't know, maybe I should look her--ah,  _ ahh _ , yeah, there--my God, Bill…"

"You were saying?" Bill reminds him.

Mike makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. "Maybe I should look Barbara up."

Bill stares him dead in the eyes. "Don't… even… think… about it," he says, each word emphasized by a deep, powerful thrust that has Mike keening. "You're mine."

He wonders for an instant if it's too much, if he's gone too far, but the look on Mike's face tells him otherwise. "Then you're mine, too," Mike says. He arches under Bill, pushing up to meet him. "No one else gets to have this cock."

"Yeah," Bill sighs. "All for you."

"Come for me," Mike says. "Come inside me. I want to feel you." He wraps his hand around his own dick. "I'm gonna come with you fucking me, Bill, please--"

The heat is scorching in Bill's groin, his chest, behind his eyes. He's already fucking Mike with all his might; now he simply falls into the clutch of his body and abandons himself, chasing obliteration. He hears Mike wail his name, feels Mike's come hot on his belly, and in the instant before he shatters, Bill cries out "I love you."

Some time later, he realizes that his face is sort of wedged between Mike's shoulder and the arm of the chair, breathing in the scents of sweat and worn upholstery. Slowly, with regret, he pulls away, disentangling from Mike and feeling his knees crackle their protest.

"Hey," Mike says, soft and sweet as though he just woke up.

"Hey," Bill says back. Then he remembers what he said as he was coming, and his face flushes scarlet. "Fuck, Mike, I'm sorry--"

"It's okay," says Mike. "Guys say things when they come. I won't hold you to it." His tone sounds casual, but from this close, Bill can see that Mike's gaze is focused on his forehead instead of his eyes.

"I meant it," he says quietly. "I shouldn't have said it like that, not the first time, but-- I meant it, Mike. I love you. I'm in love with you. And that doesn't have to mean anything you don't want it to, but you deserve to know."

Mike thinks for a moment before he responds. "You can't know that," he says. "You don't even know me anymore."

"I know you stayed," Bill answers. "I don't know what you've been through all these years, but I know you stayed, and that's enough. That's why I love you. You don't have to love me back." He's surprised to realize that it's true; he doesn't expect or demand anything from Mike. He feels serene, ready to hear any answer, happy knowing he's told the truth.

"Well, I stayed because I love you," Mike says. "So I guess that works out well." He looks up at Bill, a challenge in his eyes, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

"I guess it does," says Bill, and kisses him. Later there will be time to discuss logistics, make plans, shower off, visit a chiropractor. For now, though, he has everything he needs.


End file.
